Opal
by Jessica Pendragon
Summary: She was rather observant from the start.


_Opal is also known as the Eye Stone for improving eyesight as well as insight in a person. So here is Lavellan being rather observant right from the start._

The campfire casts playful shadows against the sharp contours of his face. He sits with legs crossed and back straight as if they might be at a noble feast inside of sitting in the dirt.

"Where are you from, Solas?" she asks.

"I am sure you have read Sister Leliana's reports," he replies.

"I have," she confirms, but it does not mean the conversation is over. Solas lifts his attention to her stare and gives in to the silent demand.

"It is a remote village tucked away from most of the world. If you did not recognize its name, then there is little I could add in placing it for you."

"It must be known for something."

"The main export was stone mined from quarries nearby."

She glances at his fingers, calloused in places from years wrapped around his staff, but otherwise clean, elegant in the way they move. They are no miner's hands. She looks away into the fire, flames of thought licking within her eyes.

"I see," she says and he wonders if she already sees too much.

They stand inside Haven's meager walls as the sky churns and groans above them. He speaks with all the passion of a poet reciting treasured sonnets and she is his rapt audience.

"I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clashed to re-enact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

The way his voice rolls from his tongue is like floating across a gentle sea. The fragments of Elvhen that the Dalish know always seem disjointed when they are forced to fill in the blanks with shemlen words. Elvhen springs from his mouth like a song, like it was meant to be spoken by him alone.

They continue on at length about the Fade, spirits and magic, and she realizes she would show him her indomitable will however he would like if he would just spell honest words out on her skin.

"Hmm," she says and he wonders if she can hear the truths in the lies.

She wipes water from her brow but it is a futile attempt in the constant deluge of Crestwood's eerie weather. Solas walks close by her side, so close the heat of his body is a comfort, but it is the memory of stolen kisses that warms her inside.

"I notice you used a nullification enchantment combined with an offensive attack," he says to Dorian.

"The nullification disrupts any ambient magic lying about. Things then burn hotter."

"Don't you then waste an inordinate amount of magic overcoming your own nullification?"

She listens to them talking, barely catching the concepts of their technical discussion, but it all sounds so very academic. The altus attended the finest institutions money could afford in his youth, but she doubts the apostate with everything he owns carried upon his back learned of such things in marbled halls.

"Is something wrong, lethallan?" he asks when he notices her thoughtful stare.

"It's nothing," she says and he wonders how much she truly understands.

Another piece of the mosaic brightens the walls of the rotunda and another piece of her heart falls under his spell. Her fingers brush against the top of his desk and she remembers the way he caressed her back as they danced and danced in a world of sparkling lights.

"I forgot how much I missed court intrigue," he explains and she frowns.

She can remember him looking so relaxed in the palace and yet so regal, as if he has spent many years in the presence of nobility and finds them wanting. As if he once was one himself. It is a strange thing to picture from someone with holes in his tunic now.

"You miss court intrigue? When were you in court?"

"Oh." Their eyes meet and she can see the wheels catching, sputtering, before they turn like clockwork yet again. "Well, never directly, of course. An elven apostate is rarely invited to speak with empresses and kings. But, from the Fade…"

She hears the words, but it is the ones unsaid that scream in her ears. Their hearts have beat against each other with nothing more than skin between them. They have walked in the corners of each other's dreams. They know each other's greatest desires and fears, but his secrets are still his own. She believes in him. She only wishes she could believe _him_ for once.

"Of course," she says and he wonders if she will ever forgive him.

"I want you to know what we had was real," he says and she wonders how she never saw this coming.


End file.
